


you know my style

by arbitraryink



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Broning, First Time, M/M, PWP, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryink/pseuds/arbitraryink
Summary: So, Brendan sucks a dick. It's no big deal. They're bros.





	you know my style

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally a story about Brendan sucking dick. There is no other plot here.
> 
> The bulk of this fic takes place during Winnipeg Jets training camp 2015. I've been prodding at this on and off pretty much since then, but Brendan Lemieux shared this pic on IG last week and it gave me the push I needed to finish it: https://www.instagram.com/p/BTXmKVZBe6n/ 
> 
> *
> 
> Thanks to [electrumqueen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/electrumqueen) for being the best cheerleader, for helping me keep my bro-voice relatively consistent, for encouraging me when I was stressed (hello?? what the hell do I know about dicks???), and for talking endlessly with me about how Brendan is clearly pining for Chase while Chase pines for someone else (though only one made it into this story).
> 
> Thanks also to A, B, and H, for read-throughs and advice at various stages over the past year and a half. I appreciate you!
> 
> *
> 
> Some things to be aware of:
> 
> The real-life counterparts to the characters in this fic voted Republican in the last American election. The same real-life counterparts were playing junior hockey in 2015. If either of these things upset you, please press the back button. Additionally, Eric Comrie's real life girlfriend is referenced by first name in this fic.

::

Brendan’s thirteen when Jamie Lewis puts her hand in his pants. They’ve been dating for two weeks so they get slurpees at the 7-Eleven to celebrate and go down to the beach. “Can I touch your dick?” Jamie says suddenly, and it’s amazing, even though she isn't doing anything special, just touching him. “This is so weird,” she says, squeezing a little until Brendan is whining, breathing heavy. He comes, fast, all over her hand, and she bends over to rinse it off in the ocean.

Two days later he asks if she wants to do it again but she shrugs, says, “I just wanted to know what a dick feels like,” and they don't break up so much as fizzle out.

::

Aaron laughs at him when he tells the guys over a game of truth or dare on the road. “That doesn't count as losing your virginity,” he tells Brendan. Privately, Brendan disagrees - it was a pretty big deal to thirteen year old him, okay - but since then he's had real sex more times than any of the rookies anyway so he still wins.

::

Chase spends three whole days in Winnipeg sprawled out on his bed and sighing heavily. It doesn’t get annoying until the second day of training camp, when Brendan still feels like he’s trying to catch his breath five hours after they’ve left the rink. The org has them in the Four Points and Brendan can’t even gather enough energy to make use of their sweet-ass hot tub. There are a couple of bars, too, down on the first floor; Brendan considers the merits of going down for a giant beef dip and a beer - just kidding, beef dip and _water_ \- versus paying the extra chunk of change to have one come up to him and decides he can't be bothered to do either.

He glances over at Chase, who, on cue, sighs.

“You know I am totally in favour of you finding true love,” Brendan tells Chase, “but your true love has a girlfriend.”

“Maybe you need to chill out and let him figure out what he wants,” Brendan suggests.

“You know I'd talk to him if you wanted,” Brendan says. “I'd do all kinds of shit for you, man, I've got your back. I'd play in the dub. I'd play for like, Saskatoon. I'd probably suck your dick if I thought it would help.” Chase is silent for long enough that Brendan sits up on his elbows and stares over at Chase in the other bed. “For real, man?” he says, surprised.

“No!” Chase says immediately but his ears are red. Brendan knows Chase has had his dick sucked before. He was literally present the first time. But - “You've never had a guy give you a beej,” Brendan realises. Chase doesn't say anything. “It's okay, dude, I've never sucked a dick. It would be a learning experience for both of us.”

It takes four seconds for Brendan to take off his shirt and climb onto the bed next to Chase, who’s been too busy staring at him like he’s fucking crazy to do anything remotely useful, like take off his shirt or unzip his dumb-as-shit cargo shorts. Brendan’s a little annoyed because he’s known Chase for _years_ and he knows that Chase would rather die than wear a shirt half the time. Brendan has seen Chase without a shirt on more times than he’s seen him wearing one, probably, so this is really not a time for Chase to be getting shy.

“This is really not a time for you to be getting shy,” Brendan says, and he gets off the bed again to drop his sweats. “There is literally nothing here I haven’t seen before,” he adds, “I’ve seen your dick like fifty times. It’s just bros, man, this isn’t any gayer than a circle jerk and you _told_ me you did that before.”

“I did do that,” Chase mutters defensively, but it gets him on his feet and stripping down with a defiant expression on his face. He looks good; Brendan’s not gay but he isn’t blind, either. The summer’s treated his buddy well and he checks Chase out, whistling. “Shut the fuck up,” Chase says as he drops back onto the bed, crawling backwards until he can lean back against the boring brown headboard. “Waiting for an invitation? You need a kiss to get in the mood or what?”

Chase is trying to look nonchalant, like he does this all the time, like he’s regularly got his legs spread so his bro can get down to business, but Brendan knows better. He’s not an idiot - he’s observant, okay, he can see Chase’s chest rising and falling, can see the red blush creeping its way from his ears down his neck, can see, plain as fucking day, the way Chase’s dick is hard against his stomach. Brendan doesn’t rise to the bait, just adjusts his own dick in his briefs and knee-walks up the bed to balance himself with his hands on Chase’s bent knees.

“Don’t you dare fucking kiss me,” Brendan says.

“I don’t want to kiss you anyway!” Chase protests immediately.

“Yeah, I know,” says Brendan. “I know exactly who you want to kiss. We were talking about this literally five minutes ago.”

Chase makes an outraged face and reaches out to twist Brendan’s nipple. “Just shut up and suck my dick.”

“Ow!” Brendan yells back and they waste two minutes wrestling on the bed. It ends when Chase gets a leg around Brendan’s neck in a strange sort of headlock and Brendan freezes, panting, his eyes on a level with Chase’s hard-on. Chase is quiet too; it should be weird, mostly-naked wrestling with your brotha on some bland hotel bed, but Brendan can feel the saliva building up in his mouth as he stares at Chase’s cock and before he can chicken out, he leans forward and licks the tip.

Chase lets out an explosive breath, like he’d been holding it, and the leg he’s still got hooked around Brendan’s neck slides down his shoulder to catch in the crook of Brendan’s arm.

“Do that again,” he says hoarsely, and Brendan steels himself, inhales deeply and ghosts his lips over the crown of Chase’s cock. “Come on,” Chase says, a little more insistent, and chokes off when Brendan sucks the whole head into his mouth.

It’s not - Brendan had expected it to be different, somehow, from feeling his own dick in his hand - soft and firm and a little bitter when he licks his palm and tastes his own precome - but it isn’t, really. There’s that familiar bitter tang against his tongue, a musky, male smell that hits him hard, makes his pulse go a little faster and makes his dick twitch in his briefs, and Brendan closes his eyes. It’s hard to lose himself completely to the sensation of Chase’s cock sliding over his lips, wet and hot, when he’s trying to remember how he likes it when someone’s doing this to him, when he’s trying to keep his teeth out of the way and still pull Chase in deeper, when Chase is making little noises every time his breath hitches in his throat.

Brendan presses closer, letting Chase’s cock fall out of his mouth and bringing one hand up to jack him slowly, spreading the slick mess of spit and precome from the head down the shaft and back up again. He swallows twice, then ducks back in to drag his tongue around the crown of Chase’s cock, pressing gently against the frenulum and tracing the big vein on the underside down, down, down.

“Holy shit,” Chase says on a gasp, hitching his hips a little and flexing both his legs. Brendan lifts his head again, jacks Chase once more, then sinks his mouth down over his dick as far as he can stand it. Honestly, he can’t take it too far, but Brendan’s under no illusions - he’s not some kind of porn star - so he pulls off to lick his hand, then wraps it around the base of Chase’s dick and tries it again.

There’s a fleeting sensation of a hand in his hair before it’s gone and in his peripheral vision Brendan can see Chase fisting his hand in the sheets, white-knuckled. He drops Chase’s leg and with his free hand flails out, grabs Chase’s hand, and drags it back to his hair. The first twist hurts but it feels good, feels grounding, and Brendan hollows his cheeks and sucks hard against the head. Immediately the hand in his hair smoothes out, settles firmly against his scalp but doesn’t pull, and Brendan doesn’t even have time to miss it because Chase is whining, high-pitched and desperate, and shooting into his mouth.

That’s not a gentlemanly thing to do. Brendan jerks back, just in time for another spurt of come to catch his lips, and he closes them tightly, glowering down at Chase who’s got his eyes closed, chest heaving and flushed bright red all the way down to his fuckboy abs.

Brendan’s still hard but he’s also got a mouth full of jizz and that wasn’t part of the deal, so he rolls off the bed and into the tiny ensuite to spit into the sink. He rinses his mouth with water from the tap; even then he can still taste jizz on his tongue, and by the time he’s brushed his teeth twice his erection’s flagged. It’s a bit of a let-down, honestly, because Chase can be a dumb motherfucker but he lives by the bro code and Brendan’s sure he’d at least have offered a helping hand, but now that his adrenaline has also died down Brendan is feeling the exhaustion from training camp settling back into every muscle in his body.

When he comes back out of the bathroom Chase hasn't moved except to throw an arm across his eyes. Brendan can still see come, cool and tacky, on Chase’s stomach.

“You lazy motherfucker,” he tells Chase, but he can’t look away from the mess - _his_ mess - and his libido’s rising again, his dick not getting the rest of the memo his muscles are yelling and rising valiantly back to the occasion. He’s just resigned himself to having to knock one off on his own when Chase peeks out from under his arm and makes a ‘come hither’ gesture with his other hand. The surreality of this entire evening doesn’t escape Brendan; suddenly his legs are moving him toward the bed almost without any input from his brain and they don’t stop until he’s close enough for Chase to wrap his hand around Brendan’s cock.

Chase is leaning back against his pillows, eyes sleepy, hair a mussed disaster. He looks sated, looks relaxed, and he’s got a smirk on his face that Brendan wants suddenly, intensely, to wipe off. He gets up and swings his leg over Chase, straddling his lap. It’s almost too much tension on his aching thighs but it makes the smirk drop off Chase’s face so Brendan will take that as a win. “Easy there,” Chase tells him, reaching down to readjust himself, but when he glances down at Brendan’s dick he doesn’t look away.

He stares long enough that Brendan gets a little fidgety. “Dude, it’s not going to bite you,” he says, “just put your fucking hand on my fucking cock.”

He’s hesitant enough that Brendan thinks maybe he’s having second thoughts and it’s gonna get weird, but before Brendan can offer to jack it himself Chase reaches out. Just the first brush of his fingers against Brendan makes him shiver, and when Chase wraps his hand around his dick and drags his hand down Brendan groans a little out loud.

“You like this, baby?” Chase purrs, and it’s so sudden and the endearment is so unexpected that Brendan starts laughing. He can’t help it. “You like me jerking your fat cock, so hot-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Brendan says. He’s still laughing, unable to catch his breath, and he has to climb off Chase, sitting down on the edge of the bed to literally put his face in his hands. When he looks up, Chase’s outrageously offended expression almost sets him off again. “It’s not your fault, I know they don’t teach you how to be a stud out there in the dub.”

Chase ignores him. “Why don’t you lay back and be good for Daddy,” he croons and later Brendan is going to give him lessons on talking dirty because clearly there’s a reason Chase bombs every hookup he’s ever attempted.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he tells Chase instead. “Can you jerk it with your mouth shut or are we gonna have a problem?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s enough for Brendan; he keeps remembering that he’s tired, exhausted, but he wants to get off and he’s determined to have someone else do it. If that someone is gonna be this fuck-up, well. Bros are bros are bros. He doesn’t get up this time, just leans over, grasping the headboard, and lets Chase reach his right hand out to play his fingers gently along Brendan’s shaft. Brendan twitches a little, and Chase smirks, running his palm firmly across the head. His other hand is warm where it settles low on Brendan’s back.

Brendan adjusts his weight a little, dropping his hand from the headboard to Chase’s shoulder and pressing him into the pillows. “Jerk it,” he commands a little breathlessly. Chase’s hand moves faster, squeezes and twists a little on the upstroke and Brendan’s always been into that, ever since that first time Jamie Lewis squeezed his dick when he was thirteen. He feels breath on his collarbone, feels Chase’s teeth bite firmly into the tendon of his neck and then Chase makes a sound, panting something into Brendan’s neck that he can’t quite make out, two syllables that he could guess at but doesn’t try because he can feel his orgasm rising, rushing at him and he can’t stay quiet -

“Ah, fuck,” he says, tightening his hand around Chase’s and pulling his cock hard and fast, faster. Chase’s eyes fly open and he tries to jerk back; Brendan can feel Chase’s body tensing under his but he's coming, he's coming so hard he feels it all the way down to his toes.

For a minute, Brendan stays there, his head hanging down to rest against Chase’s shoulder. If he’d thought his legs felt like jelly earlier, it’s nothing compared to the way his entire body feels right now. He’d be embarrassed about coming so fast but he feels too good and it’s not like he’s never done Chase any favours. “Let’s just sleep right here,” he mumbles into Chase’s shoulder, and is entirely unsurprised when he’s dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

“You got jizz all over me, you fucking teenager,” Chase says.

“At least half of that’s your own load,” Brendan replies, dragging himself onto his bed, and he falls asleep to the familiar sound of Chase complaining.

::

Chase is already closeted up in the bathroom when Brendan’s alarm goes off. He hits the snooze twice and when he finally musters the energy to drag himself out of his blanket cocoon, Chase is gone entirely, nothing left but the lingering scent of his dumbass aftershave. Brendan’s feeling hockey-sore, a familiar feeling, but he’s also, oddly, feeling comfortably loose and he grins, remembering.

By the time he gets down into the lobby, it’s getting close to seven and Chase is lurking near the entrance to the breakfast buffet. _Honestly_ , thinks Brendan, and walks close to sock him gently on the arm. “Did you eat?” he asks, lifting the lid of one shining silver serving tray to find some bizarre, greyish-looking scrambled egg substance. They’ve been living on protein bars at the arena for the last two days; Brendan winces, thinking that they’re going to have to get up earlier tomorrow if they want to be eating food that’s actually on their meal plans.

“I wasn’t brave enough to touch that stuff,” Chase says, hovering awkwardly. Brendan hopes he gets over it before they get to the rink. “There’s a shit ton of bacon, though, some guy just brought it out. And there’s more waffle mix.”

“Fuck yeah, I love waffles!” Brendan says, and they’ve high-fived before Chase remembers that he’s being _weird_ about everything that happened last night.

“Look, buddy, you gotta cut it out,” he says to Chase as they’re standing around the waffle irons, waiting for the little red lights to go off. “We both got off. It’s fine. I’m not gonna talk about it, you’re not gonna talk about it. It’s done. We’re here to have fun!”

“We’re here to make the team,” Chase corrects, but the tense muscles in his shoulders have finally started to loosen up a little and he’s starting to lean in too close, like he always does, like he craves human contact and can’t soak it up fast enough. Brendan bumps into him companionably, and then takes his plain waffle to a table and gazes longingly at the kid in the next chair who is drowning his in syrup.

Chase isn’t due on the ice until noon, so when they reach the Iceplex he and Brendan split up. Brendan has no idea where Chase is going - to flirt with one of the trainers, probably, and the idea is funny enough that Brendan kind of wishes he could go along just to laugh at him - but when they part ways Brendan’s got a bounce in his step. Every time he walks through the doors to the dressing room it sends a little thrill through him - it was one thing to hang out around the pros with his dad; it’s something totally different to be here on his own merit, to know he _deserves_ this, deserves it enough to have earned a spot at training camp.

There are a dozen guys already in the dressing room when Brendan enters. He passes all of them on his way over to his stall, right between Jimmy and where Fraz would be if he wasn’t such a super hot-shot vet that he never has to show up anywhere early. (Brendan would never say this out loud. Brendan likes his face where it is. He’s not saying he’s _afraid_ of Fraz but he’s totally a little afraid of Fraz.)

Eric is already sitting in his stall on Fraz’s other side. He’s lacing up his skates, fingers sure and strong on the laces, and he looks up when Brendan drops down within arms reach. “Hey, buddy,” says Eric. His phone chirps from the bench between them. “You guys get a late start this morning?”

“Oh, you know,” Brendan says vaguely, casually glancing down at Eric’s phone before Eric picks it up. That’s definitely Haley’s smiling face on his lock screen.

Eric uses both hands to tap in his passcode and Brendan looks back up in time to catch a fond look on his face. “Chase isn’t really a morning person,” Eric says, like he’s agreeing with something Brendan’s said, like he knows Chase’s routine better than _Brendan_ , like Brendan’s not the one practically living in Chase’s pocket for training camp. Brendan thinks about Chase, cocky on the hotel bed with his legs spread, about Chase panting Eric’s name into Brendan’s shoulder. It takes him a second, maybe, but he remembers what he said to Chase. _I’d talk to him if you wanted._ Chase hadn’t said anything - he hadn’t exactly had time, not with the way Brendan had stupidly segued into _sucking_ _dick_ \- but they’ve been friends for a long time and he’s Brendan’s best bro. They have literally exchanged bodily fluids. He’s pretty sure he can read Chase by now.

He begins, “Look-” but before he can even get the whole word out he can see Fraz coming in, earlier than he has been the past three days, and Brendan isn’t as dumb as he looks. He knows he can’t have this conversation in front of everyone else.

Eric stands to put on his chest and shoulder pads, and as he rises Brendan gets a whiff of his aftershave. It’s familiar; it hits him hard, like a punch, leaves him a little breathless and - honestly, it turns him on just a little. Suck a guy’s dick once...

“Okay?” Eric asks, catching sight of his face and pausing.

“Yeah, sure,” answers Brendan and he busies himself changing so he can stop fucking smelling Eric and try to lose his semi.

::

Brendan wakes up from his nap slowly, squinting hard against the sunlight streaming through the crack in the hotel curtains. His phone is dead when he picks it up off the table to check his messages, but the standard-issue hotel clock tells him he’s still got time before they’re going to meet Kosmo and Bloomer downtown for Shania.

Although the light’s on in the bathroom, Brendan can’t hear water running behind the closed door. He hopes that means Chase is shaving that nasty excuse for a beard off his face, but then again, he’s known the dude for a long time. He doesn’t have expectations that high.

“Hey,” Brendan finally hears when he’s half-dressed, wedged between the bed and the bedside table to shove his phone charger into the wall socket. When he turns around, Chase is leaning against the dresser they’re sharing. He’s still got a towel draped low around his waist and his arms are folded loosely across his bare chest. Brendan looks, because Chase wants him to look - Chase likes to be looked at - and he feels his heart rate pick up a little in anticipation. The kid is hot and he knows it. Brendan isn’t shy by any stretch of the imagination but no one’s going to be cutting glass on his abs anytime soon, is all he’s saying.

“Hey,” Brendan answers. He licks his lips and watches Chase’s eyes follow the motion.

Chase clears his throat. “I, uh, I was thinking I should…” He trails off, unfolds his arms to gesture loosely at Brendan. “Do you want me to, uh-?”

“Return the favour?” Brendan finishes, raising a brow. It’s not a bad idea; he can see the outline of Chase’s dick below the towel, sees it twitch when he drags his gaze slowly down over Chase’s body. But -

Fact: Chase is drowning in epic, tragic, unrequited love. Fact: Brendan is a good bro. He knows when his buddy needs to be distracted and yesterday he figured out a pretty effective way to do it. Fact: Brendan likes to be good at stuff, and his dad always said if you want to develop a skill you have to practice ‘til you get it right.

He thinks about this, and he studies Chase, whose face is getting red, and then he says, “Nah, man, it’s cool. I can do you again, though.” It's immensely gratifying when Chase swallows hard and nods once, sharp.

There’s no pussying around it this time.

Chase is much less shy; he clutches at Brendan’s hair as Brendan drops down to his knees, tangling his fingers and pulling hard. It stings but Brendan almost doesn’t notice. It takes barely a second to tug Chase’s towel down and then Brendan’s tonguing his way down the shaft as it grows harder in his hand, holding it steady and sucking the cockhead into his mouth.

It’s almost funny, Brendan thinks, how dudes can go practically from zero to twenty in a second - when he was in ninth grade his student teacher bent over to pick up a piece of paper off the classroom floor, and when the bell went Brendan had to walk out the door while clutching his books in front of his crotch. It was super embarrassing, but there’s nothing that says embarrassed about the way Chase is rocking now, pushing a little of his cock deeper into Brendan’s mouth each time. Experimentally, Brendan swallows, and Chase gasps out loud, thrusting hard into his mouth once, choking him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Chase mumbles as Brendan hauls off, coughing and wiping his hand across the back of his mouth. “Sorry, I’m- can y-”

“Yeah,” Brendan says over him and takes him in deep. It feels uncomfortable at first, his mouth stretched wide over Chase’s dick, trying to make his lips touch his fingers where they’re wrapped around the base, but Chase is making noise above him, little desperate gasps, and Brendan closes his eyes tight. He swallows again, with intent, fighting his gag reflex, and then again. The fingers of his free hand dig into Chase’s ass, dragging him closer, further in, and Chase thrusts hard, over and over, the head of his cock against Brendan’s throat. When he pulls out, Brendan inhales deep through his nose, dragging his wet lips down the shaft while he catches his breath, but he feels it down to his toes when Chase tightens his hands in Brendan’s hair, pulling Brendan’s mouth back to exactly where he wants it.

“Choke on it,” Chase gasps, fucking his hips forward, and Brendan lets Chase pound into his mouth. His own hips are moving, seeking friction; he lets go of Chase’s ass so he can rock against the heel of his hand. He rubs frantically at the front of his jeans and when Chase grinds his cock hard into the back of Brendan’s throat, Brendan gags and comes into his own hand.

He lets Chase’s dick fall out of his mouth while he gasps, lets it drag wetly across his cheek, lets the head rub over his lips, tongues at the slit while he comes down, but Chase’s breath is coming even faster now. It only takes a couple of pumps of his hand, still tight around the base of Chase’s cock, before he’s coming hard against Brendan’s chest.

Wow.

Chase flops back onto the bed, flushed right down to his nipples and looking pretty fucking sated, like something out of one of Claudia’s shitty, raunchy romance books. This isn't much of a romance - there's jizz congealing in Brendan’s sparse chest hair and a wet spot seeping through the front of his jeans, and Chase’s boner for his other best bro is perma-visible to literally anyone with eyes - but Chase bought Brendan’s ticket to Shania and Brendan sort of let Chase come in his mouth and they're still coming out buddies on the other side. When Brendan climbs up into the open space beside Chase and closes his eyes, he's feeling pretty chill about all of it.

Chase smells good, post-shower and cleanly shaven. It’s been a while since he’s looked so soft - Chase grows shitty facial hair but he seems to think the stubble is manly and will make people forget he’s five foot nothing. But there’s something about the way Chase smells, like it’s familiar somehow, and it only takes Brendan a second to remember -

“Dude,” he says, rolling his head over to stare accusingly at Chase. “Do you seriously wear the same aftershave as Eric?”

“What,” Chase says defensively, “No!” but his ears are that telltale red and Brendan is gonna have ammunition forever.

::

They’re cut from the Jets’ roster, all of them except Morrissey and Petan. Brendan goes back to Barrie, but before he goes he hugs Chase, drags him close and squeezes. “Bros,” he says, right into Chase’s ear, and Chase’s arms come up around him to squeeze just as tight.

“Bros,” Chase says, and when they pull back they’re both grinning.

::

They trade Brendan to Windsor.

It’s not the worst place in the O, but it feels damn fucking close - Brendan remembers them from last season, when the Wolves were the only team who played worse than they did. He’d have been there to start, if Barrie hadn’t stepped up. He knows why they want him. They need a one-and-done, a top six for the season and no big risk to the roster when he’s through. It’s okay, mostly, after a while. The Spits have won more games than they’ve lost so far this season, but they’re sure as hell no Barrie and Brendan isn’t crossing his fingers.

The worst part, he thinks, is that they don’t even tell him until after he hears it from his dad. He’s played in Barrie for the last three years; he was supposed to stay there, was supposed to play out his last season as a Colt, a scorer and an agitator, a position he knows. He doesn't want to leave.

When it happens it’s simple: a short conversation with Jason Ford where Brendan tries not to sound like a whiny little kid, and an even shorter phone call with Rychel in Windsor where he tries his best to sound confident so he doesn't embarrass his dad. The Google alert shows up on his phone - “Colts acquire Stefano and Murray…” - and then his billet mom is hugging him and crying a little. It sucks, but he handles it.

Brendan lands in Windsor in December. The roadie room assignments get shuffled with the trades and Brendan ends up rooming with Logan Brown in some nameless hotel in Saginaw. Brownie’s a kid Brendan thinks he could get along with - he's friendly but somewhere underneath that he's got attitude. It takes some real attitude to refuse to report to a team who drafts you, that and a dad who played in the NHL, and Brendan knows all about both of those things.

They have a mid-morning practice and then are sent back to the hotel to rest up. Early bus rides hit everyone differently; Brownie retreats right away but Brendan takes his chance to tool around in the hot tub for a bit, making friends with a couple of D before dragging himself back up to the room. Brownie’s sitting at the little table in the corner, staring down at his phone, when Brendan comes in.

Something about the look on his face makes Brendan wander a lot closer. “What’s up, Logie?” Brendan asks, leaning obnoxiously close to peer over Brownie’s shoulder.

“Nothing!” Brownie says, locking the screen and scrambling to get out from underneath Brendan. He’s playing it cool but his face is red and Brendan’s really never considered himself all that observant until now. He hadn’t missed the way Brownie’s thumb had stopped swiping through the pictures in his album, had hovered, gently, over a picture of him and that big asshole Chychrun taken at some lake back in the summer. He hadn't missed the way Brownie’s eyes lingered, his mouth curling a little at the corners.

Brendan knows what this means. He’s seen this same goddamn lovesick sad expression on his best buddy’s face a thousand times and he knows exactly what to do.

“Hey,” he says casually, and he sounds confident in his own ears. “A dude ever suck your dick?”

**Author's Note:**

> ([x](http://twitter.com/quidam9))


End file.
